Fado Mal Falado

Sad fado, dark fado from the alleys
You're tired of being sung, moaned, and cried over
Here, some time ago, they gave you another spin
The voice of the artist Villaret was heard
Talking to you in a syllabic, Lancastrian tone
So I'll prove to you that even badly spoken, you're beautiful

Guitar hand, twisted, contorted, and bent
Oh, bizarre hands, hairy hands, well-caught, tear-stained
Furious hands, lewd hands, very deep, very loose
Where, at last, the fado sings; oh, little bird, give me a crown

I'm going to tell a story; about Chico and Glory
They lived in a rundown place
He played guitar and she was a singer
One who had no virtue
Because she didn't sing the fado of Our Lady of Health

With the money they made, they were happy, no fights
Because the house they lived in was a real dump
Since they had few belongings, it was very tidy
The women of Alfama whispered in little secrets
That this pair of lovers
Even shared their rags under the same bed

Through Glory's window, the Moon came in
And the fado, it went out wandering the streets

Guitar hand, twisted, contorted, and bent
Oh, busy hands, hairy hands, awkward and clumsy
Fado hands, hands of this and hands of that and the other
Oh my brothers, what a mess
I'm already getting my feet tangled

One day Chico didn’t show up, good Lord
That caused a stir for Glory not seeing him
Poor thing, she felt the pain right here in her elbow
I searched for her like crazy
And when I asked her what was up by the tavern
Full of ash, she just replied
Oh man, I’m in a bind!
But then, down the street, she runs into Chico
All dressed up, arm in arm with a lady

But what jealousy, what drama, the rest is just history
Glory went after the lady, and Chico went after Glory

And jealousy came like fire, burning her chest and bleeding
It was a real mess
With Chico hitting hard, it was never-ending
The lady went off like a cow, and Glory was pulling hair without mercy
It was a real ruckus, a total mess
But then, Glory screamed, had a fit that could cost her
Pull the damn knife, no one can save you, you gotta die
Damn, what a smell of death, the crooked cops come to abuse and ground
They disarm the big lady and take her down

Loving hands, generous hands, that know no resentment
These are hands that grab, hands that punish, but act without pain
Hands that don’t feel when they squeeze, that are really hurting
Hands that leave black marks, gentle hands to caress

What saved this love was the knife that got stuck in the chain
A love that has given and taken and didn’t kill, has a future ahead
It was about two and a half weeks ago, she made peace with Chico
It’s been about a month, and at home, there are already three

Because a little one was born, a beautiful cross-eyed kid, prettier than wheat
Just Chico looking at him, sees he looks a lot like him
And with forgiveness afterward, both happy, they go side by side
Here’s the badly spoken, shabby fado.